Eclipsed
by A Small Egg
Summary: While the teams RWBY and JNPR are being heralded as heroes in the city of Vale, other teams continue their silent work. One team has refused to remain eclipsed by their peers work, and jumps at the chance to exploit a random series of events around the kingdom. But they may have put themselves in a bit over their heads, and are forced to rely on some of their friends for help.
1. Sharp Knives And Other Weapons

**A/N**: Welp, this should be fun. In case you didn't know, this is my first time writing fan fiction for, well, anything. So, this should really be an adventure. I'm probably going to put an authors note at the beginning of every chapter, and an extra section at the end. The extra could contain anything I feel like putting there, from another authors note, to an inspirational quote, to an extra scene, maybe a little bit of background knowledge, or even the lyrics to an Elton John song. Really depends on the time of day. I will take requests of what to put in the extra section. Send a message my way, or leave it in a review. Anyway, I've wasted enough of you're time with this, you should probably start reading the actual story.

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Chapter 1

Sharp Knives and Other Weapons

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The Knife

The quiet darkness filled him with a sense of urgency. The silence would not remain for much longer, even if everything went according to plan. _Especially _if everything went according to plan. If that happened, however, he would be long gone by the time the noise really hit them.

As he trotted down the dark corridor, his eyes never rested in one place. He couldn't risk bringing a flashlight, so he was forced to rely on his other senses, senses that had been trained acutely to the world around him. His footfalls were silent, despite the fact that he wore heavy combat boots. The only noise was the occasional humming of the server rooms as he passed them. He figured he didn't have a whole lot of time left. His window was closing fast. He increased his pace, allowing a small amount of sound to resonate from the metal floor.

Jared knew his plan was no longer going to work like he had originally thought. As he began sprint down the hallway, he reached in to his coat, and pulled out a small knife. He had been keeping his hands free in case he came across any doors he had to hack, but now he knew he could afford a small amount of noise. He checked his watch, noting the countdown on it.

_"Only 20 minutes left,"_ Jared thought to himself, still sprinting down the corridor. They must have noticed him when he had started running, as they were beginning to turn the lights on. He pulled another knife out with his left right hand. He needed to find a way out of this corridor. If any guard saw him, he was a dead man.

Spotting a door ahead, he slowed down in order to turn and not run straight into the wall. Before he could reach the door, the handle began to turn. Acting fast, Jared pressed himself against the wall, waiting for whatever was going to walk out of the doorway. He tightened his left hand, ready to strike with the knife. Watching a lone guard step into the hallway, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand, Jared crouched into a stance. As the guard turned to shut the door behind him, turning in Jared's direction. The guard froze; coffee cup still in his left hand, before attempting to draw is handgun. As he stepped back, his right hand still reaching down to draw his gun, the guard wrapped his hand around the handle and drew the gun. Raising his hand to point the gun at Jared, he saw a quick burst of movement come from Jared's left hand. The guard brought up the gun to take aim at the intruder, and saw an empty hand in front of him. The guard heard the clatter of the gun bouncing off the metallic floor behind him.

Staring straight into the guard's eyes, Jared saw the shock and confusion on the guards face. Allowing a small smirk to creep onto his face, he flicked his right hand forward, sending the knife straight into the guard's throat. As the guard began to fall to the ground, Jared sprinted forward, managing to yank the coffee cup from the guards hand, and stepping back to allow the guards body to finally collapse onto the floor. Looking down into the dying guards eyes, Jared took a drink from the coffee cup. His eyes never leaving the guards, he finished off the rest of the coffee. Jared crouched down, and moved closer to the guard, leaning closer to his face.

"Decaf? Really?" Jared questioned the guard, and then proceeded to smash the cup into the man's face, putting him out of his misery. Pulling his knife out of the guards corpse, Jared strolled over to where the man's gun had fallen, and leaned down and picked up his other knife. Picking up the gun as well, he ejected the magazine. _"Might as well take the rest of the bullets. Never know when I'm going to need them,"_ He thought to himself. Packing the magazine into his side pouch, he dragged the guard's body into the side hallway.

"_Well, looks __like I may have to go loud pretty soon," _He thought to himself_._ If he wanted to make it out of the compound alive, he was going to have to improvise pretty quickly. Dropping the corpse, Jared continued down the hallway. The lights were out in this section of the building for some reason. Jared thought it seemed a little suspicious, but he gave it no more thought. His mind was focused solely on survival at this point.

His coat fluttered behind as he sprinted down the hallway, his heavy boots now clanking against the metal floor. Coming across another door, he paused and checked his pistol, making sure that he had a full clip inserted. Easing the door open, Jared peeked into the room.

He did not like what he saw. Or, rather what he didn't see. The room was blanketed in darkness, and Jared couldn't see more than a meter in front of him. He could tell it was an open room, but couldn't tell how deep it went, or how wide it was. He couldn't afford to hug the walls, so he had to run straight down the center. Gripping his knife in one hand and his pistol in the other, he began to move throughout the room.

Jared quickly lost sight of the door. This darkness was unnerving him. It seemed too thick. It seemed as though someone had placed it in this room, waiting for him to enter. It seemed as though someone knew he was coming.

_"It __can't be her, can it?"_ he thought to himself. _"She hasn't been heard from for 17 years."_ Jared was getting a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. At this point, he knew his chances of surviving were about to take a serious nosedive. But he came from a family of fighters. If he didn't make it out, he would ensure he took a good number of these assholes with him.

Jared remain crouched, still making his way through the room. The darkness seemed blanket all sound, seeing as how he couldn't hear his own boots. This was beginning to unnerve him. It was _way_ too quiet. In an open room like this, there should have been at least some sort of soun-

_Beep_

His watch had gone off. Jared froze, sensing the darkness start to lift from the room. He could hear movement at the far side of the room, gauging it at about 15 meters. His grip tightened even more, his knuckles whitening around the handle of his pistol. He heard the cocking of rifles, guns being aimed at his position. He knew everything was about to go down the hole.

"Well, this is a surprise. I was going to go through this whole plan of luring you in here, and have this whole shindig where this stuff would go down, and shit would blow up while people died in the background, and you just really showed up. So, that makes things a whole heck of a lot easier," a voice rang out in the lifting darkness.

Jared didn't recognize the voice. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. The voice sounded like it belonged to a man in his mid-thirties. Jared still could't see that far in the room, but he could see more than a meter in front of him. The fog was starting to lift, and Jared could here more activity in the room. He could make out figures against the walls, people ruining along the outside of the room, lining up and aiming an assortment of weapons at him. He stood up, knowing that stealth was no longer an option, and bullets were about to start flying.

The lights in the room flicked on, and a man stepped away from the wall, his dress shoes tapping against the floor. His black suit was fit closely to his figure, emphasizing his broad shoulders. His legs were long, and one step easily carried him a over a meter. His hands were the size of baseball gloves, and Jared could easily pick out veins on the back of them. To Jared, this man was a giant. He towered over every one of his minions, and easily dwarfed Jared.

What Jared found strange though was the fact that the man seemed to have a mask stapled to his face. It was held by what seemed to be brackets on his chin and just beneath each ear. The mask didn't even look like it had eye holes, or if it did; the mask was fit to his face too well.

"Looks like I'm just going to have to skip the first part of that plan and go right to step two: You dying. Have fun!" The man spoke, his mask moving along with him. He turned and made a hand gesture, ordering two or three minions to open the doors and follow him. The rest finished spreading around the room, and when the last one took aim at him, the man stopped.

"Oh, and as an afterthought: try not to kill too many of my men. They cost a lot of money." The man left the room with his personal guard, the doors slamming shut behind him. Another guard stepped forward, wearing what looked like captain's combat gear. The man raised his hand, and held up all of his fingers.

_"Well this looks interesting,"_ Jared thought to himself. He stood up fully, standing as tall as he could. As intimidating as he thought he was, Jared wasn't actually that tall. The guards around the room still stood taller than him, even if they weren't standing up to full height. Jared watched as the leaders fingers began to count down.

_Five. _Jared stared into the eyes of the grunts lining the room, seeing the cockiness in their faces. They expected him to be an easy target.

_Four._ Jared smiled a little knowing that this was no longer going to be that difficult anymore.

_Three._ Jared reached into his coat and holstered his knife, then pulled a small canister from a chest harness hidden by his coat.

_Two._ Jared lifted the canister to eye level. This was going to be way too easy.

_One._ Jared pulled the pin out of the canister, then let it fall out of his hand.

"Fire!" The captain shouted.

Two things happened at once. A cloud of thick black smoke exploded in the middle of the room, and the guards opened fire. After about 20 seconds of shooting, they stopped. The captain stepped forward, checking if he could see any movement in the smoke that covered a few square meters in the middle of the room. Straining his eyes, he just barely caught a flash of movement, then what looked like a glint of light on something metallic.

_Thud._

The captain took a step back. He looked down at his chest, and noticed a small handle protruding from where his heart was. He looked up, confusion in his eyes, before finally collapsing to the ground. The remaining guards looked on in confusion, wondering where that knife had appeared from. There was no way that _boy_ had survived their hail of gunfire. They peered into the smoke, trying to see from where the knife had been thrown.

A shot rang out in the room, a flash out light coming from the edge of the smoke. A guard in the room shouted, then fell silent as he joined the captain on the floor. The other guards looked at him in shock, then back at the smoke. The smoke was beginning to dissipate, and they could begin to make out the figure of Jared standing there, not quite in the center of the room. He had a challenging look on his face, as if daring the guards to attack him. His arms were by his sides, the sleeves of his coat just barely covering his hands. A guard decided it would be a smart idea to throw a grenade at Jared, hoping that he wasn't explosion-proof. As the guard brought his arm back for the throw, Jared's smirk grew wider; almost a grin at this point, and he flicked his right hand forward. The grenade fell out of the grunts hand behind him, the pin already gone. The men around the grenade frantically tried to run in order to escape the it's blast radius, but a few were unsuccessful. The others shield their eyes from the explosion, and when they looked back, they Jared with his arms crossed in front of him, a knife in between each of his fingers.

Jared sprang forward, flicking his left hand forward and releasing the knives there, each of them finding a mark. Three more guards fell to the ground, knives embedded in their chests. His left hand now free, Jared drew his pistol firing into three more guards, each bullet nailing them in the head. Landing in their midst, Jared pivoted and stabbed a guard in the chest with his right hand. The three knives tore through his vital organs, and he was dead before he hit the floor. Jared spun and fired two more times, the first bullet hitting a guard in the chest, the second one hitting his friend in the head. Jared unwound himself and threw the knives in his right hand, taking out an additional three guards.

By this time, the guards on the other side of the room managed to recover from the shock of Jared easily destroying at least ten of their number in the blink of an eye. They took aim with their rifles, hoping they could catch him unaware. Jared had been counting on this, and brought out another canister from his bandoleer. As he did so, he revealed the sheer amount of knives he had on him. Each rib had at least ten knives on them, with an additional ten on each side of his coat. The guards around him stepped back to try to get away from his knives, but Jared threw down a smoke canister instead. The thick substance exploded outwards in a rush, covering everything in the immediate area.

The guards in the middle of it could hardly see the barrels of their rifles. They could sense a presence in the smoke, and knew that Jared was there with them. He was like a ghost, the smoke clinging to his form, shrouding him from view until he was too close for them to fight back. They could barely hear clamoring outside the smoke,and they figured that their comrades were fleeing the room in a mad rush.

Jared crept through the smoke, holding a knife in a reverse grip while he left his other hand open. He spotted two guards back to back, and snuck up to them. One of them finally spotted him when he saw the knife being swung into his face. The other guard spun at the sudden loss of a man at his back, just in time to catch Jared's fist in his mouth. He went down in a heartbeat, out before he hit the floor.

Noticing that the smoke was going to dissipate soon, Jared moved through the smoke to another group of guards. Two were facing away from him, while two more flanked them, facing to the right and left. Creeping forward, Jared grabbed the first guard by the neck, slamming him into the ground. Swinging his hand around he landed his knife in the second guards neck. Yanking the knife out, Jared uppercut the third guard, sending him a couple feet into the air. Jared ducked to avoid the last guards fist, and he spun and embedded the knife in his rib cage.

Standing at full height again, Jared drew his handgun with his open hand. With one fluid motion, he pulled it from it's holster on his upper thigh and pointed it at the guard he had first slammed on the ground. HE watched as the guard tried to grab his gun from the ground, but was failing horribly. The guard froze when he heard Jared's boots on the metal floor.

"I knew people could fuck stuff up, but, damn son. That's just bad. Like, how do you even fuck up that much, dude?" Jared finally spoke. The guard turned to look him in the eyes. His terror filled eyes met Jared's amused ones. The guard waited for his demise, staring down the barrel of Jared's pistol.

"I may be a knife-throwing assassin, but I'm no executioner. Stand up," Jared said. He watched as the guard slowly got his legs under him, his hands staying above his head. Jared's aim didn't waver, his pistol always aimed at the guards chest. The guard finished standing up, almost a full head taller than Jared. The guard felt ashamed at having to look down at the boy who had killed his friends and was holding him at gunpoint.

"Turn around," Jared commanded. The guard did this without question, slowly spinning until he faced away from the boy. He wondered if this kid was a liar, if he had said what he said just to lower the guards awareness. The guard started to get angry. This mere _boy_ couldn't possibly have killed _all_ of those guards, could he? No, he was much too small to do something like that.

_"I could take him. I could move now and surprise him. I could grab his gun and make him answer for what he did to me. I could-"_

_Thwack_

The guard collapsed to the floor, an angry red mark on the back of his head where Jared had pummeled him with his pistol. Jared looked at him in ahead on the floor, his right arm at an awkward angle under his torso. He thought that he should maybe fix his arm, but then figured that the guard deserved it anyway.

Holstering his pistol, Jared looked around the now deserted room. The few guards he had killed were strewn about in one area, while the rest of the floor was still completely bare. Jared looked for the door that the man from before had exited from. Seeing it on the other side of the room, Jared moved towards. He had to find the man, before anything happened to the building. He opened the door and moved down the hallway behind it at a quick jog, the door swinging closed behind him.

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There was a cold rain outside, and it made Jared wonder why he hadn't brought his bandana like he usually did. He thought he wouldn't be spending much time outside on this mission, seeing as how it was supposed to be quick and simple. And yet, here he was. Tracking a man he didn't even know existed until fifteen minutes ago through the rain. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, attempting to keep out the chilling wind. The rain was blasting into his face, cutting his view to about a meter in front of him.

Jared could faintly make out the sound of a Bullhead heating up it's engines over the constant din of the rain. He sped up his pace, trying to locate the source of the sound and hopefully find the man before he escaped. He still couldn't see the Bullhead through the rain, but guessing from the noise, he figured it was less than 15 meters away. Jared slowed down so he didn't hit anything, or anybody. A flash of heat hit him head on, and Jared figured that he was approaching from the back.

_"That's where they board the Bullhead. Maybe I can hop on and take them down before they even get off the ground,"_ Jared's thoughts were racing through his head. He moved slowly, but inside his adrenaline was pumping through his veins. He drew his handgun, the cold steel not helping his already freezing hands.

And there it was. The hard metal of the bullhead appeared a meter in front of him, the edge of the cargo bay door cutting through the rain. Aiming his pistol Jared called out through the rain.

"If you're in there, come out where I can see you! I am ready to shoot should you try anything funny! I say again, come out where I can see you!" Jared's shout was barely heard through the rain and the growing roar of the engines. Yet over all the noise, Jared heard a response.

A chilling laugh echoed out of the Bullhead. Jared recognized it. It was the man from before- the masked man. The very one he had been hunting.

"If you really think a mere gun is enough to stop me, then you have other issues to worry about, kid," Jared heard the mans voice come from the darkness. Jared figured now was a good time to shoot.

He could barely hear the rain now over the repeating cracks of his pistol firing into the dark cargo bay. He emptied the magazine, all 15 bullets sent flying into the Bullhead. After it was done, Jared took a pause. He waited for any reaction, any response, but none was given. He dropped the now empty magazine into the mud, and inserted a new one. As if waiting for the click of the pistol, the world erupted behind him.

"SHIT!" Jared yelled over the explosion, the warehouse becoming engulfed in flames behind him. He had momentarily forgotten about the bombs set under the building, ready to blow when he got out. His watch had even warned him of their impending detonation, but he had ignored due to the guards in the warehouse. He turned to stare into the inferno, and didn't notice the bullhead lifting away behind him. Turning at the last second, he jumped up to the ramp, his hands clambering to stay on the edge. The rain had mad the metal cold and slick, making it nearly impossible to keep a handhold.

The raging inferno below him sent waves of blistering heat up his back, his coat flapping comically behind him. Jared watched as a few knives he had stored on the side of his coat slipped out and tumbled into the blaze, to suffer the same fate as the building. Finally managing to get his feet under him, Jared slot regained his balance. He was too late to realize that the pilot was closing the ramp while he was still on it. He tumbled into the cargo bay, landing in a heap on the floor. The light of the fire below made it's way into the hold through the few Windows on the side of the Bullhead.

Finally managing to stand on his feet, Jared looked around the cargo hold. A guard was slumped against the wall, his gun at his side. Jared assumed that he had been unfortunate enough to catch one of the bullets he had sent into the Bullhead not too long ago. A rocket launcher was propped up against the opposite wall. He wondered what that was there for, but decided he'd know when the time was right.

Seeing nothing else of interest in the hold, Jared moved towards the cockpit. He aimed his pistol at the door, then decided that there was a better way to approach this situation. He put his pistol away, and drew two knives, one in each hand. Examination of the wall next to the door revealed a button to open the door, and Jared prepared himself to enter the cockpit. He drew his hand back, then slammed it onto the button.

Everything after that happened in a blur. The door flew open, and a guard rushed out of the cockpit to tackle him head on. The guard picked Jared up, and received a knife in the back of the neck for his efforts. The corpse fell on top of Jared, the heavy weight keeping him trapped on the floor. The man from before stepped out of the cockpit, a small smirk on his face. Without saying a word, he walked over to where the rocket launcher was leaning against the wall. Picking it up, Jared's mouth spoke before his brains could caution him against it.

"What are you gonna do, shoot me?" Jared froze after that exclamation, realizing exactly what he had just said. He gave a nervous little giggle when he saw the man checking the rocket launcher.

"With this thing? No way. I shoot you with this, I might as well shoot myself with you," the man said. He strapped it onto his back, before picking up the rifle that the dead guard from before had dropped.

"No, I think I might shoot you with this instead. Somewhat less of a chance to blow myself up in the process," The man chuckled at his own jest before cocking the rifle and aiming it directly between Jared's eyes. Jared stared down the cold barrel of the rifle, closed his eyes, and awaited his death.

It never came. The man fired, but the Bullhead lurched to the side and threw his aim to the side. As he fell back, his rifle continued shooting and peppered the hull with bullets. Jared glanced out a side window and saw that the engine had more or less exploded. The Bullhead began to fall out of the sky, throwing Jared to the ceiling, the guard's corpse flying off of him. Jared spun so his back hit the ceiling first and looked around the hold.

He spotted the man pressed up against the ceiling on the other side of the hold. His rocket launcher was still strapped to his back, and the man was struggling to throw on a parachute on top of it. He was twisting and turning in a vain attempt to shove his left arm through the strap when Jared slammed into him. Jared had effectively trapped the man's left arm where it was, leaving him at a serious disadvantage. The man flailed around, trying to unpin himself before Jared recovered for a second attack.

The man finally decided to throw the rocket launcher to the ground, and quickly strapped the parachute to his back. Jared spun around the cabin, losing all sense of direction before face planting into the ceiling of the aircraft. Jared re-oriented himself in time to see the man grip the rocket launcher and leap out of the Bullhead. The man spun in midair, and fired the rocket launcher back at the Bullhead, striking it's other engine. The Bullhead stopped spinning as quickly as it was, and began to descend in more of a straight line, while still falling at an alarming rate. Jared crawled across the ceiling to the cargo bay door, and looked out. He saw the burning compound in the distance, and saw the man deploying his parachute slightly above the Bullhead. Noticing the wrecked aircraft was heading straight for a jungle, Jared came up with an almost suicidal plan.

Waiting for the right moment, Jared remained pressed against the ceiling of the flaming Bullhead. Judging the distance between him and the canopy of the jungle, Jared leapt out of the Bullhead. And Jared plummeted to the ground.

He broke the top of the first tree with a crack, and felt nothing but agony in his right arm. The next tree's upper branches caught him in the ribs, probably breaking a few. He finally managed to yank a dagger out of his sheath on his lower back, and stabbed the nearest tree. His left shoulder yanked upwards while Jared continued down. A sudden popping noise proved that Jared had dislocated his shoulder, but had come to a stop about five meters of the ground. He pressed his feet against the trunk, and pulled the dagger out of the tree. He fell to the ground, hitting the dirt with a loud thud. A few leaves flew away from where he landed, then settled on the ground. A red rose petal floated in front of him, and the he heard the sound of the Bullhead ripping it's way through the treetops. It landed about thirty meters from where he lay in the dirt, and Jared saw whatever was left of it dissolve into a fireball.

Jared stared up at the sky, and his vision narrowed so he could see nothing but the stars. The last thing Jared saw was a glimmer of golden hair, and hands lifting him from where he was on the jungle floor.

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**A/N **Well that was a hell of a lot of fun to write. You guys have no clue how much fun it was to come up with these characters, and set up a few things that will be present throughout the story. Feel free to leave a review, and drop a like if you actually enjoyed this first chapter of my story. If you didn't like it, then you can go on your way. I'm not gonna bitch at you for hating this story, but don't leave a like if you didn't enjoy this chapter. Remember, nobody likes an ass-kisser.

Also, something in this chapter is a reference to a video game character. If you can guess which one it is, I may put a shout out in the next chapter. Anyways, leave a review if you want, and remember that nobody that haters or ass-kissers just don't help.


	2. New Faces, Old Feelings

**A/N** Hello again! I'm back with a new chapter of Eclipsed, and hopefully you liked the first one pretty well. I had a long-ass authors note in the last one, but this time, I'll keep it simple. One quick note on chronology of chapters, the first chapter takes place long after this chapter happens. If you've ever played Sly 3, I'm basically gonna follow the same flow. If you've never heard of that game, then here's how it works. I start with a chapter, then after the end of that chapter, I rewind time a lot, and explain a shit ton of stuff. So basically, pretty much the rest of the story acts as if the first chapter never happened, because it hasn't happened yet. So yeah. If you have any additional questions, shoot me a message, and I'll answer them as much as I can. Now, ONWARDS!  
P.S. Anyone see the new intro for volume 2? Freakin Badass, am I right?  
Extra P.S. May have not said this last chapter, but no matter how much I want it, I do not own RWBY. It belongs to Monty Oum and Roosterteeth.

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Chapter 2

New Faces, Old Feelings

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The Axe

He had always hated airships. They gave him a sense of vulnerability. Without his boots on the ground, there was little he could do. His life, and the lives of everyone on the ship, now depended on the pilot. Peter had had his control wrenched away from him the second he stepped on board.

Of course, there were little to no threats on an airship ride of Vale, to the legendary academy that was Beacon. If anyone stupid enough had decided to attack them now, the numerous guns placed around the city, not to mention the few Bullheads escorting them, would have them grounded in seconds. He had no reason to worry, but that mattered little to Peter. If he wasn't in control, he never liked the outcome.

He got up from his seat for the thousandth time on their short ride. He began pacing in front of the window, wondering when Beacon would come into sight. The other students around him gave him a wide berth, his heavy armor and dual battle-axes giving them enough reason to not irritate the restless brute. he flexed his hands, ignoring the news report about the White Fang in the corner. He could care less about the organization; after all, their killings and robberies just made humans hate the Faunus even more.

The news cast was cut off when a hologram of a woman appeared in the window. Her professional attire, her straight backed posture, and her air of authority left no doubt in Peter's mind that this was a professor at Beacon. She began to speak.

"Hello and welcome to Beacon. My name is Glynda Goodwitch. You are among a privileged few who have received the honor of being selected to attend this prestigious academy! Our world is experiencing an incredible time of peace, and as future Huntsmen and Huntresses, it is your duty to uphold it. You have demonstrated the courage needed for such a task, and now it is our turn to provide you with the knowledge and the training to protect our world."

Her hologram vanished, and the out the windows, Peter finally caught his first look at Beacon. It's clock tower soared into the blue sky, standing tall among it's somewhat smaller, but still magnificently high, brethren. He could see what looked to be a pathway leading straight into the central building, surrounded by trees and the occasional bench for students to relax on. Having seen his fill, Peter moved away from the window, and towards the side of the ship, where the students would disembark.

As he passed between the students, he managed to catch a glimpse of a few people he would be spending the next few years with. A man in a green tailcoat stood next to an extremely hyperactive orange-haired girl. He saw a boy leaning against the far wall, away from the window, in a dark trench coat. Another boy, a little closer to the window stood straight-backed and staring straight ahead, his head not moving. Peter got the uncomfortable feeling that even though the boy was not moving, he could still see everything, and, like Peter was doing, was observing the students surrounding him. The long rifle strapped to his back told Peter that if were to ever fight this man, he hoped his axes could get close enough.

The one boy-no, _giant_- that caught his attention stood away from everyone else. Peter stood tall among his fellow students, but he had to look up to stare this man in the eyes. There was naught a single person within three meters of him, either scared by his size, or by the menacing black box he held tenderly in his hand. Peter decided to move on before he found himself drawing the big man's attention. He felt the airship dock, and saw the door begin to open. He strolled forward, not even waiting for the ramp to finish extending before he stepped onto it. He took in a breath of fresh air, glad that he was finally off the airship.

It looked like their airship wasn't the first one to dock. Already, there were some other people walking off the other ships, and admiring the view of Beacon. He noticed a red cloaked girl having some bout of happiness over the other students weapons. Her golden-haired companion knocked some sense into her, before running off with another group, ditching the red girl. He spotted a white haired girl leading enough luggage behind her to supply Peter for a year. Recognizing the symbol on the luggage, he moved quickly to avoid an nasty situations on the first day.

Just as the girl fell backwards, Peter caught her in his massive hands. He barely avoided disturbing any of the Schnee girl's luggage, but the mere threat posed by the falling girl sent her on a temper tantrum. As he helped the girl back to her feet, he turned to face the wrath of the Schnee girl.

"What are you doing? Do you have any idea the damage you could have caused?" she yelled at the poor girl. The Schnee removed a bottle of dust from one of the cases in order to show it to the girl. "This is dust, mined by the Schnee Dust Company!"

"Wha-" the girl seemed to be extremely confused as to what was happening. Peter almost considered bolting before the Schnee could notice him, but he didn't want to abandon the red girl to her fate.

"Are you brain dead? Dust! Fire, water, lightning, energy!" Shaking the bottle with every word, Peter noticed what the Schnee had not - the red dust was leaking out of the bottle every time she shook it. He turned to the red girl in time to see her face scrunch up in preparation of a sneeze. Acting fast, he grabbed the red girl and pressed her against his armor, minimizing the damage her sneeze did.

The girl stepped back out of Peter's steel clad chest, and gave him a thankful nod. Peter nodded back, then left before he had to deal with the Schnee anymore. As he strolled down the path, he wondered where the hell he was supposed to be. He saw a few people walking towards what seemed to be an auditorium, and decided he would try his luck there.

Walking through the open double doors, Peter saw just how grand the hall was. The dome soared above everyone, and filtered the sunlight into a cacophony of colors through it's stained glass roof. He didn't think he'd ever seen something just as beautiful as that before, unless it was a battle.

That passing thought put a smile on Peter's face. While he was a man who enjoyed a great many things, nothing gave him a rush of energy like the thrill of a fight. With your life hinging on the split-second decisions you made, there was nothing like it.

His thought were interrupted when he bumped into a familiar face. It was the boy with the rifle, the one he had seen on the airship. He looked down to see the kid staring back up at him, and something about his eyes angered Peter.

"Hey, asshole, watch were you're going," the little prick had the audacity to say that to _him?_ This little runt wanted to talk like that to the brute that was Peter, the mass of muscle standing in front of him? This kid had made some poor choices on his first day at Beacon.

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me, pipsqueak?" Peter growled at the young sharpshooter. The kids eyes burned with arrogance and anger.

"No, I'm talking to the wall over there. Of course I'm talking to you, asshole," the kid snapped back at him. Had he known what Peter was capable of, he would have been on His knees, begging for mercy.

"I wouldn't speak like that if I were you, runt. Might get some bad luck on your first day," Peter warned before roughly shoving him aside. The persistent kid followed after him, not afraid of Peter's size and battle-axes. As Peter came to a stop, he noticed the kid stop next to him.

"Shouldn't you go bother someone who can't beat you into the ground with a casual drop of the arm?" Peter questioned the smaller marksman. The kid looked at him, scoffed, and looked away, not bothering to humor the warrior. As they stood there, Peter got his first good look at the boy.

He stood straight as the barrel of his rifle. His black muscle shirt peeked out from under his dark blue overcoat. The overcoat itself had sleeves rolled up slightly to reveal metal racers connected to gloves matching the color of the coat. The back of the coat bore a sigil that Peter did not recognize. The sigil displayed a white Nevermore outlined against a blood red background. The red was seemingly splattered against the coat, making the Nevermore appear dead.

The rest of the smaller boy's outfit was commonplace among the boys his age, with dark grey jeans, and light grey military boots. The boy glanced over at Peter, and Peter quickly averted his gaze. The boy raised an eyebrow, and returned his attention to the stage.

Peter noticed a man stepping up to the front of the stage, with the blond woman from the airship hologram. He stepped forward and turned on the microphone, silencing everyone in in the auditorium. The man, who Peter assumed must be the headmaster, began to speak.

"I'll...keep this brief. You have gathered here to today in search of knowledge- to hone your craft and acquire new skills- and when you have finished you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people. But I look amongst you, and all I see is wasted energy, in need of purpose, direction. You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far. It is up to you to take the first step."

The man stepped back and moved off of the stage, while the blond woman- her name was Glynda, Peter remembered- stepped forward. Without waiting for the murmurs between the students tonite down, She immediately began to speak.

"You will gather in the ballroom tonight. Your initiation begins tomorrow. Be ready" Glynda instructed the new students. She immediately followed the man off the stage, and the students began to wander towards the the ballroom. The young marksman followed Peter out of the auditorium, and Peter didn't feel like telling him to go away.

Entering what Peter assumed was the ballroom, the two spit up to find their respective things. Glancing around, Peter noticed the ballroom was still relatively empty, save for the luggage. He figured now would be a good time to find his things and secure a place to sleep for the night.

Making his way through the crowd, Peter finally found his stuff. A few duffel bags and a rolled up sack was all that consisted of the luggage he brought with him. Picking up the duffel bags, he reached down to lift the sack. Noticing too late that one of the bags was open, he managed to spill the contents of the bag and the sack onto the ground in front of him.

"Damn it," Peter swore to himself. "I just had to spill this shit in front of everyone, eh?" He placed his bags on the ground, and began replacing the contents. Numerous swords, knives, small axes, and a few sharpening tools were among the things Peter had placed in the bag. Finishing his clean-up, he glanced around to see the sack unrolled, with a sword laying next to it.

The ornate silver sheath glimmered in the light of the ballroom, and the jewel encrusted hilt gave off a a colorful brightness. Reaching over tenderly, Peter picked up the sword. Drawing the sword slightly, he made sure no harm had come to the blade itself. The blade remained razor sharp, and the thin metal reflected the many lights on the ceiling. Sheathing the sword, Peter replaced it in the sack, and re-rolled it, hiding it's light from the room.

"Hey!" a voice called out behind him. The young marksman had returned, his own luggage safely packed away somewhere else in the ballroom. "Need any help with that?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Peter replied gruffly. He really wished that the kid would leave him alone, but he wouldn't take the hint. The kid must really enjoy hanging around people who insult them when they first meet.

"No really, I insist," the marksman said, reaching down to pick up the rolled up sack that Peter had set next to his other bag earlier.

"NO!" Peter yelled, diving forward and snatching the sword away before the kid could touch it. He scooped the blade up in his arms and glared at the kid.

"If you want to help me, then take a fucking bag and find me a place to sleep. Otherwise, leave," Peter growled furiously. The kid raised his hands in surrender, and picked up a duffel bag in order to follow Peter's instructions. As he left, Peter slowly loosened his grip on the sword he still clung to. To think, someone else had almost managed to touch _his_ sword. The only remaining monument to his-

No. Peter couldn't allow himself to revisit those memories. He couldn't revisit those times. He was a student at Beacon now, and that was in the past. He double checked that the sword was still wrapped up tightly, and grabbed his other bags. He stood up and scanned the room for the marksman. Spotting him in the far corner, Peter moved through the crowd towards him.

Peter reached the corner and dropped his bag next to the other ones that the kid had brought over for him. He began undoing the clasps on his armor, letting it fall to the floor piece by piece. First the gauntlets landed next his bag, the helmet close behind it. The kid watched, silently observing him, not wanting to anger the warrior more.

"You know, if we're going to help each other out, I might as well know your name," Peter said, reaching over to undo the straps holding his breastplate to him. Underneath he wore a simple shirt without a design.

"The names Roland. Gunman extraordinaire. Pleasure doing business with you," the kid, Roland, said. He hadn't moved from his spot against the wall, and shifted his gaze from Peter to scan the rest of the room. "Might I have your name?"

"Peter. My name is Peter," the warrior replied. His shin guard's fell away from his legs and collapsed in a heap next to the rest of his armor. Peter stood and stretched, glad to be finally free of his armor. He stepped his pile of armor and moved to arrange his bags so he could sleep. He glanced at Roland, who still hadn't moved from his corner. The marksman was scanning the room, looking for someone. "You looking for anyone in particular?" Peter questioned him.

"Not really, no. Just measuring the newcomers," Roland replied.

"You like what you see?" The warrior asked.

"More or less. I can already tell some of them will have a ways to go before they become real Hunters," Roland said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. Peter decided to ignore the subtle message in his words. All it did was confirm the level of arrogance in the watchful marksman. Peter finished arranging his things, and stood up to look at the marksman.

"You gonna sleep over here? Or are you gonna stand all night?" Peter asked the shorter boy. Roland looked up at him, and shook his head.

"I'll go find some place else to stalk everybody," he replied, moving off. Peter watched him go, a slight smirk touching his face. The more he heard from him, the more he liked the arrogant marksman.

* * *

The silence in the room comforted him, as it signified that this was the best time to move. The warrior stood up from his spot on the floor and looked around the room, ensuring that nobody was awake. He reached into his bag and withdrew the decorative sword from within it's bundled sack. He moved around the people, careful to not wake anyone from their peaceful slumber. He reached the door to a balcony, and slowly opened the door. He slipped through the door, as silent as he could. A cool night breeze kissed his cheek as he carefully closed the door behind him. He leaned against the balcony railing and studied the night sky.

Peter always enjoyed looking at the stars. The distant twinkling lights had kept him company on many traveling nights, and when sleep evaded him, the stars were always present. The sword in his hand had not been made for him, but the sheath glimmered like the hundreds of stars he watched. The sheath glimmered for _him_.

Bringing himself back to reality, Peter unsheathed the sword. The blade glowed much like the sheath, drawing it's power from the distant starlight. When Peter grew bored of the stars, the blade in his hands never failed to amaze him.

"Couldn't sleep?" a voice spoke softly from somewhere to his left. In a haste, Peter slammed the sword back into it's sheath, and spun around to confront the intruder.

"Scare ya? Unless you're doing something illegal, I see no reason to be scared of a friendly visitor," the voice continued to speak, it's source cloaked in shadow near the wall.

"Who are you?" Peter asked, hoping to see whoever had interrupted his thoughts. The person stepped forward, and Peter was surprised to see how much shorter the mysterious man was.

He was dressed in a black trench coat that was open in the front, giving small glimpses to the arsenal of knives the man had attached on his ribs. The man's boots clicked softly against the tile floor as he moved forward into the light, letting the broken moon illuminate his face. There was nothing remarkable about his face, a standard nose, brown eyes, thin eyebrows, and a small mouth. The only thing that stood out was the scar running from the left of his mouth to the bridge of his nose. The white tissue was practically glowing compared to the rest of his tan skin.

"The name's Jared," The shadowy man answered. "I'm liking the sword you got there. Family heirloom?"

"That's none of your business," Peter answered defensively. He had just met the man, there was no need to spill out his past right now.

"Ah, you're one of those people. Well, if you wanna play that way, thats fine. Just remember why you have that sword, Peter," Jared said with a sly smile. He turned and walked back into the shadows, letting himself be swallowed by the darkness.

"Wait, how do you know my name?" Peter called out after him. He received no response as the man had already left. Peter brought out the sword again, and examined it again. He decided he had had enough for one night, and slipped back into the ballroom to find his spot on the floor again. Reaching his bags, he noticed a small note tucked next to his the bag used as his makeshift pillow. He reached down and read the writing on the slip of paper.

_"In case you didn't figure it out yet, I already know who you are. And you should really stop trying to hide that sword. You can't keep running from the past, Peter Blackshire."_

Peter didn't get anymore sleep that night.

* * *

The first students rose with the sun, standing up from their spots on the floor as the first rays of dawn cracked through the ballroom windows. Peter watched the, with tired eyes, wanting sleep that continued to evade him since reading the note. Peter decided that with the sun up, sleep was not coming back today. He stood and looked around the room for an exit leading to the cafeteria. Staying up all night had made him awfully hungry.

Peter wandered through the halls, passing only a few early risers on his way to the cafeteria. Upon reaching it, he stopped to enjoy the aroma of fresh food. He made his way over to the buffet line and grabbed himself some eggs and hash browns. Finding a seat wasn't hard in the rather empty room, and Peter quickly dug into his food. He must have lost track of everything else in the room, or fallen asleep, because he jumped when someone sat down across from him. Peter looked up, only to see the raised eyebrow on the face of the marksman.

"Sleeping and eating at the same time? That's a first," Roland observed. He had a meal similar to Peter's, with the addition of a few strips of bacon.

"What do you want Roland?" Peter asked, cutting straight to the point. He didn't appreciate his alone time being interrupted.

"What? Am I not allowed to sit down with a friend and eat? Is that not approved of anymore in normal society?" The marksman jokingly shot back. "Too bad I don't care about normal society," he added in a mutter.

"Well if you want to talk, let's talk. What's with the emblem on your coat?" Peter asked without skipping a beat, realizing that, if the marksman wasn't going to leave, he might as well get some questions answered.

"Oh, this old thing? Old family crest. My dad had it as a Hunter, and when he retired he passed it down to me," Roland replied as he picked up and ate a piece of bacon. "Say, if I have to answer you're questions, it's only fair that I get my turn. What's with the sword you had yesterday? The really shiny one?" the marksman questioned with a mouth full of bacon, turing the conversation back on Peter.

Peter felt his stomach drop. How had he not seen that this was going to happen? He started the question game, he should have expected to be asked about that damned sword.

"It's... It's a family heirloom," Peter forced out. He pushed his plate away from him, suddenly not hungry anymore.

"Family heirloom, eh? Mind elaborating at all?" Roland continued to pester him. Peter made to get up, but an arm dropped around his shoulders and somebody sat next him, forcing him back into his seat.

"Peter, my man! How's it going? Meeting the people I see. What was that you were asking there, good sir? Something about Peter's sword? I'm sure that he wouldn't mind answering a few questions," Jared, the shadowy man from the balcony, had appeared at the most inopportune time. This man must have been hell-bent on making Peter as uncomfortable as possible.

"It was my father's sword," Peter forced out again, not knowing why he let the small man next to him control him. "He gave it to me when he retired, just like yours,"

"That's the spirit, Peter! See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Jared exclaimed throwing his hands in the air as he spoke. Peter took the opportunity to stand up and move away from the table, not wanting to answer anymore questions from the two companions.

"Hey! We're not done with you!" Roland called after him. Peter ignored the marksman and exited the cafeteria as fast as he could.

Back in the ballroom, Peter decided to move his weapons bag into the locker room. Grabbing the one specific bag from the ground, the troubled warrior moved through the crowd of now awake students in order to exit the ballroom.

Why do they keep asking about that sword? What is it about Jared that made Peter so uncomfortable? Why did he know so much about him and his past? Why was he so intent on forcing Peter to "not keep running from his past", as he put it? Why was-

There were to many questions to be answered, and Peter didn't want answers to some of them. He had wandered into the locker room at some point during his thoughts, and walked over to the locker assignment wall. A large poster was pinned up against the wall opposite the door, and the names of all incoming students were listed on it. Peter scanned through the first column, seeing as how the names were listed alphabetically by last name. Finding his name, he memorized the number next to it.

_"Number 365, eh? Odd number. Must have randomly given out numbers then,"_ Peter thought to himself. He made his way through the locker room, until he reached the corner not to far from the door. Finding himself in front of his locker, he examined the lock pad in front of it.

_Please Enter Your Name_

Peter input his name onto the pad, and followed the set of instructions on the pad.

_Please Enter A Passcode_

He put in a passcode that he knew he would remember, and the pad flickered off. Worrying that it had somehow broken already, he began to tap the side and front of the lock pad in a vain effort to reboot it. He jumped a bit when it flickered back on with a message on it, and the locker opened.

_Welcome To Beacon, Peter_

Deciding that the pad was a tad bit creepy, he opened the door and fit his bag into the locker. He withdrew his armor from the bag, and began to strap it back on, readying himself for the initiation today.

Fully armored, Peter opened his weapons bag and looked inside. Yesterday he had arrived with only two battle-axes strapped to his back, but today he decided to be a little extravagant. He withdrew the collapsible battle-axes, and a similarly collapsible longsword. He strapped the two axes behind each shoulder, the handles poking up like small antenna, and strapped the longsword horizontally on his lower back. He withdrew two more short swords, and fitted them in a standard sword position, one on each hip. He finished his small arsenal with three knives, one on his upper left chest, a second on his right thigh, and the final one behind his left calf. He zipped the bag shut, and closed his locker behind him as he left the room. The speakers above him buzzed to life as he left the room.

"Would all first-year students please report to Beacon Cliffs for Initiation." Glynda's professional voice came out of the speaker's in the hallway. Peter followed the crowd outside of the school's main building and found his way to the cliffs.

Arriving there, he found a series of platforms for all the students to stand on. He wasn't the first one to arrive, but there were still plenty of platforms left to choose from. Randomly picking one in the middle, Peter waited for everyone else to arrive.

After about five minutes, all the platforms were filled up. The headmaster who gave them their "welcoming" speech yesterday stood in front of the students with Glynda Goodwitch standing next to him, as straight-backed as ever.

"For years, you have trained to become warriors, and today, your abilities will be evaluated in the Emerald Forest," the headmaster started off. Goodwitch stepped forward to resume where he had left off.

"Now, I'm sure many of you have heard rumors about the assignment of teams. Well, allow us to put an end to your confusion. Each of you will be given teammates. Today," Goodwitch ended with a somewhat menacing tone. He spotted the red-haired girl somewhat down the line start to squirm on her platform, obviously anxious to now about the team assignments.

"These teammates will be with you for the rest of your time here at Beacon. So it is in your best interest to be paired with someone with whom you can work well," the headmaster continued, seemingly ignoring the red-haired girls squirming. "That being said, the first person you make eye contact with after landing will be your partner for the next four years,"

Well that was a different way of handling things, Peter mused to himself. He heard the red-haired girl cry out in shock, and a few more murmurs up and down the line of students. the headmaster continued as if he had never been interrupted.

"After you have been partnered up, make your way to the northern end of the forest. You will meet opposition along the way. Do not hesitate to destroy everything in your path, or you will die," That didn't sound too comforting, but, then again, Peter had never wanted to live a safe and comfortable life. "You will be monitored and graded for the duration of your initiation, but our instructors will not intervene. You will find an abandoned temple at the end of the path containing several relics. Each pair must choose one, and return to the top of the cliff. We will regard that item, as well as your standing, and grade you appropriately. Are their any questions?"

Some blond-haired kid at the end of the line raised his hand. Peter figured that this kid wasn't the brightest crayon in the box.

"Yeah, um, sir-?"

"Good," the headmaster cut off the kid before he could ask the question. Peter smiled. he liked the way the headmaster handled things already. "Now, take your positions,"

Peter widened his stance until his feet were placed on opposite corners of the platform. He reached up and made some final adjustments to the handles of his axes.

"Uh, sir? I've got, um, uh, a question," the blond stuttered out. What did he want this time? Peter didn't even flinch when the Schnee that was near him catapulted into the air, the platform launching her at fantastic speed. So that was how they were going to get out there. That was... a creative way of starting the initiation.

"So this, landing strategy, thing..." Was the blond really not that smart? The Schnee girl had just been launched, and he didn't know what was going on? "Uh, what is it? You're like, dropping us off, or something?" He must have really been in denial at this point. Two more people had just been launched while he was speaking, and the kid must have seen the go flying through the air.

"No," the headmaster replied with a touch of fake politeness. "You will be falling."

As if on cue, Peter's platform launched him into the sky, preventing him from hearing the rest of the conversation. The wind whipped at his face, and he waited until he reached the crest of his arc. Feeling that he wasn't going any higher, Peter began to fall. He angled his body at the diagonal, feet first, and drew a battle-axe. There was no way this was going to work, but he might as well try. He glanced around to see who else was near him, and saw nobody that he recognized. Looking back down at the oncoming trees, Peter readied his axe.

Passing the initial canopy of branches, Peter swung as hard as he could. The axe blade bit deep into the trunk of the tree, and almost immediately stopped. Peter's arm felt like it was going to be ripped off, but he managed to keep his grip on the axe. He hung for a moment before placing his feet against the trunk, and slowly pulling the axe out of the tree. The blade came free with a pop, and Peter lunged through the branches until he hit the ground in a three-point stance about 10 meters down. He stood up, replaced the axe in its spot on his back, and moved off to the north of the forest, hoping he could meet someone along the way.

* * *

**A/N **Well that took a really long time to write. Between my procrastinating, and my inability to hold a concrete idea in my head for more than a day (seriously, half of this stuff you just read? I came up with it about teen minutes before writing it) kind of delayed this chapter. The whole "no idea what I'm writing" thing shouldn't last that long though, because these are just building chapters, and what I write here will affect what I can and can't do in later chapters. Anyway, sorry for the wait, but as a heads up, I am going on a month and a half long vacation, so don't expect a new chapter until August. Leave a review if you want, and favorite if you want. I didn't make any references this chapter, so theirs nothing to really point out, but anything in review can motivate me to write a little more. Have a nice rest of your day (or night if it's 2 in the morning), and know that flames for this story will be listed for public humiliation.


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